Page 63 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
“Think for a moment, Owen. I am your brother. Remember that. We share the same mother. As children, we played together.” Jacob knew he needed to keep talking, while he came up with a way to stop his brother. “Tell me, who sat at your bedside and read to you when you could not go out of doors? Who put blankets around your shoulders in the winter? Who took your hand and led you from the house in secret, when Mother forbade it, so we could ride across these fields? Have you forgotten all that?”
Owen laughed. “No, but you are forgetting something.”
“What is that?”
“We are not children anymore.”
Jacob tugged on another thread of thought. “Then think of this. Do you know how I came to be given life?”
“Mother fancied some other gentleman, I imagine.” Owen’s lips curled into a grimace of disgust.
“No, she did not. She was never disloyal to Father. She was attacked and brutalized and dishonored. That is why Father did not cast her out, nor me. That is why he sent me away, because it wounded him to look upon me, and remember what terrible deeds had been done to his beloved wife. But that is also why he chose to love me, because he knew my birth was not Mother’s fault, and that it was not my fault, either.” Jacob held his nerve. “He was a good man, despite some mistakes. What would he think of you, if he could see you now?”
Owen hesitated. “Did she tell you that?”
“Yes, she did.”
Owen fell silent for a moment, shifting the butt of his musket again. “It does not matter. It is too late to change my mind now.”
“No, Brother, it is not. There is still time. Put the musket down and I will pretend as though this never happened,” Jacob urged.
“I might have found the will to do that, after what you have just said,” Owen replied slowly. “But you encouraged me to this point, and letting you live will not solve the bigger problem of your presence.”
“Encouraged you?” Jacob spluttered. “How have I encouraged you?”
“You said it would be your word against mine, if I tried to denounce you. And I do not want to bring my mother’s reputation into disrepute—you were correct about that. Especially now.” Owen shrugged. “She will grieve you, I am sure, but this is the only way that I may have what is rightfully mine, without your interference. You have only yourself to blame.”
“Owen, no!” Jacob cried.
“I am sorry, Brother.” He flicked back the flintlock. “I wish you had gone back to London.”
In a blur of panic that hammered in Jacob’s heart, a shot rang out.
Chapter 42
“Jacob!” Alicia screamed, unable to keep his given name from hurtling from her tongue. She ran with all her might to close the distance between them, with Tom bringing up the rear. He held his musket in his hand, a faint sliver of smoke rising from the end of the barrel.
Jacob stumbled slightly and braced himself against the wall. He glanced down at his chest, patting it frantically with his palm. Alicia reached him as his gaze shot up toward his brother, who was staring down at his own chest. A bud of dark red sat dead-center, with petals of the same scarlet unfurling across his white shirt. He staggered backward, dropping the musket to the ground with a clatter.
“Alicia?” Jacob looked at her in bafflement, squinting as though he did not quite believe she was there. He, too, had dispensed with formality in his apparent surprise.
“Captain, are you hurt?” Tom slung his musket over his shoulder.
Jacob shook his head. “No… I do not believe I am. Though, how can that be? I heard the shot.” He glanced at his brother and turned deathly pale. “Owen? Owen?” He rushed forward, catching his brother in his arms at the precise moment that Owen’s knees buckled.
“I am sorry, Captain,” Tom said quietly.
“What did you do?” Jacob twisted his head around and looked to his old friend. “Tom, what did you do?”
“He was about to fire, Sir. It was you or him. I had to make the choice.” Tom hung his head. “I am sorry. Truly, I am. I had no other option.”
“He would have killed you,” Alicia agreed. “Tom saved you.”
Jacob grasped his brother to him, rocking him as gentle as a babe. “Forgive me, Owen.”
Owen laughed, a splash of blood spattering onto his chin, as a thin stream trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Forgiveyou?”
“Yes, forgive me. I did not mean for you to be injured.” Jacob looked back at Tom. “Send for a physician immediately!”
